


Hotel Heartache

by fikkifini



Category: Free!
Genre: A FAIR AMOUNT OF ANGST, Anal Sex, Brief Descriptions of Sex, College Student Makoto, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Love Hotels, M/M, Makoto POV, One Shot, Pining, Rimming, Sex Worker Haru, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Tokyo AU, slight mentions of past sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9593921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fikkifini/pseuds/fikkifini
Summary: Makoto finds himself working a less than ideal part-time job to pay his way through college. What he expects is that it will be miserable- and usually, it is. What he doesn’t expect though, is falling in love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not kidding you this was like one of those things where last night at 1 am i was washing my face and somehow sentences from this just started pouring into my head and I have no idea how or why I was thinking of this AU but I guess it was just on my mind? Anyway I literally wrote most of it in one sitting until 4 am and gave it a re-read today so there's probably a lot of mistakes but I hope you like it anyway!
> 
> P.s. I know most love hotels don't have receptionists but shh it's for the dramatic tension just go with it
> 
> And also, please forgive my ignorance. I do not intend at all to demean or belittle the lives of sex workers through this fic, but merely wish to suggest the inherent difficulties of their job. Please let me know if anything I described was particularly offensive and I will change it!

Makoto is twenty years old when he starts working at a love hotel.

But no, not in that way. He’s the receptionist, typically for the late night shifts since he doesn’t have classes then. He’s been working there… well, he can’t really remember for how long now. When he first took the job, he told himself it was temporary, that it was because he was desperate for money as a struggling college student- still tells himself that’s the case today, in fact. But it would be easy to find another crappy, low paying part-time job anywhere else if he really tried. If he wanted to try.

The thing is though, he doesn’t.

There are little things that actually appeal to him about his workplace: the décor is tacky, the other employees impatient and bored with their stalemate lives, and not to mention the amount of times he’s had to break-up couples getting at in the hallway, since they apparently are just too desperate to wait five more seconds for the elevator to arrive. Makoto learned after plenty of experience in the first few weeks of his new job that using logic and common sense to prevent drunken men at three in the morning from releasing their sexual frustrations was indefinitely futile. He rarely attempted to intervene anymore, subjecting himself with indifference to the echoes of what was usually less than two minutes of grunting and pounding. At this point, little things about his workplace faze him as well.

The only thing that keeps Makoto there, the only possible glimmer of beauty and elegance in such a tasteless and shallow place, is Haruka.

He learned quickly, after noticing a not-so-subtle pattern, that Haruka was, _is_ a sex worker. The lean, sapphire-eyed boy with inky black hair who came in almost every evening couldn’t possibly be much older than himself, but the depth in his eyes spoke eons whenever they made contact with Makoto’s own innocently curious gaze. Each night, sometimes more often than once, Haruka would saunter in, tight leather hugging his legs and little more than a tanktop slipping off his shoulders, an anonymous man in tow and a look in his eyes that spoke of purely business and no play.

On his first days of employment, Haruka had hardly spared Makoto a glance when checking in at the front desk (their hotel still did things the ‘old fashioned way’, which Makoto chalked up to management not wanting to blow money on high-tech machinery when they could just under-pay a few employees instead). He only found out his name due to the frequency of Haruka making bookings, and even then he wasn’t certain if it was just an alias or not. A week or two passed though, and just as Makoto had gotten to know several other frequent faces of the hotel, he had learned Haruka’s as well. He couldn’t seem to forget the way those ethereal blue eyes had started to catch his more and more. How Haruka would give him a smirk of thanks after paying the rest fee, and the way he’d lean against the counter when he booked a room, the curve of his hips tantalizing in such tight materials.

Makoto had never thought he would like boys, and maybe he didn’t really, not in such a general way, but he found out rather quickly that Haruka was the exception.

Sometimes, if the breeze outside was a little too frigid, or a client was late, Haruka would come to the hotel anyway, striking up shy conversation with Makoto while he waited for his next ‘appointment’. The irony of it all was not lost on Makoto: there he was, at a love hotel, eying a man that he was fairly certain he would be more than thrilled to do with what love hotels were for, and they were merely talking. About entirely innocent things, nonetheless. The more times they spoke, the more Makoto learned that Haruka would be happier talking about anything _but_ what he was there to do. About school, about his late grandmother, about his home in Iwatobi and how Tokyo was so cold and cruel and how he would do anything to be at a beach. Anything to just swim the span of an ocean and be free from this concrete hell of a city. Makoto wants to give him all of that, wishes that he could be brave like Haruka and dream as big as he does, but without fail the hallow, stinging jingle of a bell ringing on an opening door reminds them of the unpleasant truth of where they really are every time.

Once his client would walk in, giving Makoto a weary and unnecessarily defensive look, Haruka would clam up quicker than Makoto could even think to ask “Just a rest, or staying the night?” They would part with little more than a glance, Makoto sometimes offering up a reassuring smile if their conversation had been particularly tense, or the client looked particularly unfriendly.

It wasn’t long before a new pattern developed in Haruka’s behavior. His meek, careful “goodbyes” before heading up to a room turned… well, it was hard to describe. His eyes would lock onto Makoto’s all too vulnerable green ones, ridden with sensuality and allure, and he would murmur, sometimes even purr a far too tempting “goodnight, Makoto”. If it were really an odd night, Haruka would sometimes wink at him as he took the greedy hand of his client and pulled them away, peering over his shoulder with a curious glimmer in his eyes just as he would round the corner to the elevator. When these looks began, Makoto didn’t know what to do with himself. Sexual attraction aside, he found it impossible to believe that _anyone_ could look as stunning as Haruka did. And to be receiving what he could only describe to himself logically as ‘suggestive looks’ from such a knee-weakening, heart-stoppingly gorgeous human left him more than a little dazed in their wake. His paperwork was usually sloppier on nights like those.

Now, however, Makoto was nearly certain that they are flirting.

Haruka, once quiet and reserved and happy to let his conversational companion do all the talking, was now the one who would practically _sing_ Makoto’s name when he walked into the deserted lobby, catching sight of the brunet stationed in his usual spot. His suggestive looks now followed after even more suggestive comments. _Why don’t you be my next client instead, Makoto? You look tense… I could give you some release if you want. Makoto, I bet there’s something dirty behind that innocent stare of yours. Will you show me it sometime?_

Even though he could tell it was just what Haruka considered harmless teasing, Makoto felt like he was going faint the first time he pulled _that_ line on him.

It got harder, though, as time passed, seeing the men come in with that cocky walk and out with a look of repulsive satisfaction on their insatiable lips, here just for him. Watching Haruka be pulled into unwelcomed kisses, watching predatory eyes devour the sight of his exposed porcelain skin, watching strange and rough hands grope his ass in the middle of the lobby, as if Makoto couldn’t see, as if he wasn’t right fucking there and couldn’t actually _see_ the pain in Haruka’s eyes, the torture and agony and-

But who is he to get upset about it? This is Haruka’s job. This is what pays the bills. Still, Makoto found himself many nights calculating whether or not his meager part-time salary could support two people. Unlikely, was usually his depressing conclusion.

One night, after who knows how many month of this agonizing version of flirting, Haruka is whispering over the counter to him like never before.

“I want it to be you tonight. Please, let it be you,” he begs, husky and desperate, his eyes nervously glancing at the door.

“Haru,” Makoto can’t stop the way he nearly moans the boy’s name, not unused to the images that cross his mind as he imagines for the tenth, dozenth, hundredth time what it would be like to have Haruka in his arms, to kiss him and touch him like he wants. Like Haruka’s eyes plead for.

“I won’t charge you anything, just… please.” Haruka offers. Makoto can see the way his lithe fingers itch to reach across the desk, can feel how his own ache to touch that so perfect, so angelic face before him too.

“I can’t. I can’t Haru, it’s not right,” he tries to chokingly explain, but fuck, that comes out so awful. It’s not wrong because it’s Haruka, it’s not wrong because he’s a sex worker either. It’s here; it’s this place that makes it so utterly, unfathomably wrong for Makoto.

Haruka looks offended by that. Makoto thinks he sort of has the right to be. He’s not very good with words when his brain has been short-circuited for the past five minutes and his boner is practically busting the zipper of his slacks with it’s immovable determination for release.

“Makoto. I… I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“I know.”

The brunet’s not sure which exactly he’s referring to, whether it’s flirting fruitlessly with him or his actual job that he means, but he can’t take the way it makes the very soul in Haruka’s eyes shatter. Makoto wants him, wants to take this precious, fragile body and mend it with his own bit by bit until they can both forget about this god-forsaken place. Until they can be together without the cold, unmoving force of a wooden desk between them.

“Kiss me,” he moans so softly, Makoto’s sure that it’s a dream, that he fell asleep on the job because it’s nearly sunrise and he’s so tired that he can barely find any reasons to say no anymore.

He reaches across the desk with thoughtless abandon and pulls Haruka’s lips to his. There’s no one around, but even if there were, this is a dream and nothing bad could really happen anyway. But the warmth of slightly chapped and wet lips molding into his feels too good to be just imaginary. No, this has to be real. Nothing real or fake could ever measure up to this feeling alone of Haruka’s tender, wanton kiss. Makoto doesn’t care to hold in the sigh of pleasure he breathes into his mouth, and he shamelessly presses his erection into the desk between them, desperate for more contact, more _anything_ as long as it’s Haruka kissing him the entire time.

“Come with me,” he breaks apart to whisper.

“Where?”

“Anywhere. I just want to be with you.”

Haruka glances apprehensively behind Makoto before muttering, “Your job…”

“I’ll quit,” he insists before reaching for Haruka’s hand, lacing their fingers together with impossibly practiced ease, as if it’s been twenty years and not just twenty seconds since their first kiss.

“You can’t. Not for me. I’m not worth that-” the raven begins to stutter, insistent, but is stopped silent with a second, more persuasive kiss.

“Please. Let’s get away from here, Haru. Take me home, take me to Iwatobi with you, take me anywhere I don’t care but I don’t think I can stand to watch you walk up to those rooms once more time with another man,” he weeps, feeling all the anger that he’s so masterfully been hiding for god knows how long surging up his throat like pure acid.

Haruka kisses him again, this time slow and sweet and beckoning, and Makoto knows it’s his answer. It’s so not him to just walk off the job, not bothering to call in a replacement or cover his slack. But then again, it’s so not him to be running away with a guy quite as unreal as Haruka either. The next shift will be there in an hour anyway, and though his guilty conscience argues that there’s still plenty of things that could go wrong between now and then, he can’t really refuse the determined pull on his arm as Haruka drags him out from behind the desk and out into the breaking glow of early daylight.

The first thing he does when they’re free is press their bodies together as close as he possibly can. Despite his still fairly present arousal, it’s the most virtuous embrace Makoto has ever experienced. There’s nothing he can quite compare to the simply overwhelming comfort of Haruka’s body against his when for months he has been deprived of such an honest pleasure.

They decide it’s best to go to Makoto’s modest apartment. There’s a hesitance in Haruka’s step that he has never seen from him before when they walk through the door. It strikes him suddenly that no, he really doesn’t know very much about Haruka, and that he’s not as easy to read as Makoto initially took him for. There are complexities in this man that Makoto doesn’t dare fathom to understand, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s been living a life full of all these privileges he didn’t even realize he had and here he is now, trying to pretend like he gets what Haru’s been through. No, he has no idea. He does not know what it means to live off the money you make offering your body to others for pleasure. He can’t compare his experiences to that.

“Haru,” he says once they’re in the living room, shoes off and tidily placed at the door. He extends a cautious hand out to him, hoping not to scare him away like a startled deer. “May I kiss you again?”

“You don’t have to ask,” the other boy says it like he’s insulted, but what Makoto does know about Haruka is that this is his way of being ‘cool’ when his heart is reacting otherwise. The truth is always swelling behind those remarkably expressive eyes, and Makoto can see right now that they’re saying _please, do whatever you like. When it’s you, it’s okay. I’m okay._

And they are okay. At least for a little while.

Tears of both relief and sadness pour out of Makoto the first time he sees the bruises. Relief because he knows Haruka is free from that world now and that they’re healing together, slowly but surely. Sadness because that world had dared to mar someone so delicate and fragile and so important to this world, to Makoto’s entire world now, and leave him with such mocking physical reminders of that pain. He kisses each one in between whispering into Haruka’s silken skin while he sobs.

“I’ll never hurt you, Haru. I promise I’ll never let anything like this happen to you again. I’m going to protect you,” he resolves through his watery gaze. Haruka’s fingers slip into his, searching for something to steady himself. “I will, I’ll protect you, Haru-chan. I’d die just to save you. I’d do anything, so please let me take care of you.”

“You’re an idiot,” Haruka grumbles from beneath him, but in a way that Makoto can tell isn’t really a joke. There’s no humor in his eyes as he watches Makoto’s lips in a somber daze.

“I know what you’re thinking. I know, and you’re wrong.” Makoto’s voice trembles with emotion. “You’re worth it, Haru. I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

“Why? I’m just a- a disgusting-”

Makoto silences him with a furious kiss, his heart aching because how could Haruka not see? How could he not understand that he makes Makoto’s entire world turn upside in the best kind of way? At first he assumes the wetness on his cheeks is just from his own crying, but the quiet whimper against his lips tell him that he’s not the only one breaking right now.

He doesn’t want to end this moment, even though they’re both hurting and in tears, but there’s a calming sort of solidarity in it that Makoto thinks is so beautiful and so unique to whatever this bond is between them. But there’s something he must say, and so he gently takes Haru by the shoulders and nudges him away, only enough so that the space between their lips is hardly a hair’s width apart.

“Don’t you _ever_ think that, Haruka. You,” he chokes for a second, hardly able to restrain himself from raising his voice. He wants to shout, not because he’s angry, but because he wants everyone in this entire world know what Nanase Haruka means to him. “You don’t know what it’s like to open your eyes after kissing you, and to see the most honest, truest form of beauty reflected back.”

“Yes, yes I do,” Haruka vows readily, his so breakable palms taking Makoto’s burning and soaking wet cheeks into his hands.

They waste no time in getting to know every single precious inch of each other after that. Makoto can’t stop asking if it’s alright, if he can touch here, kiss there, but Haruka is patient with him in his replies anyway and never lets them lose sight of their end goal. He’s never had sex before now, but Makoto can’t possibly imagine that doing it with anyone else would have been even remotely comparable to the way it felt to be buried so deep inside Haruka’s heat. He doubts there is a single song on this earth that could send the same shivering bliss down his spine the way Haruka's sighs and moans of pleasure do.

Only once did the nagging thought of _how many other men have seen his sight before me?_ invade his brain. Instead of dwelling on it to the point of madness though, he distracted himself by thrusting his tongue deeper into Haruka’s twitching entrance, enjoying the view of his lover tossing his head back in ecstasy from between two lean, remarkably flexible legs.

In the aftermath of it all, Makoto lays staring up at the ceiling, an arm tucked behind his head and fingers running absently through the fine, raven hair splayed across his chest. Haruka snores a little when he sleeps, but rather than being annoyed by it, Makoto finds it to be just another thing impossibly more endearing about the man lying in bed with him. He wonders, without too much effort, how this all came to be. How he ended up falling for the man with the deadly blue eyes and sinfully tight pants and the most precious smile in the world, no matter how rare it may be. He wonders what his parents will say when he brings a boy home over the next break from classes. He wonders how long this kind of surreal state of bliss he seems to be drowning in will last before he has to face the harsher realities of the decision they’re making together.

Haruka stirs and curls against him tighter for a moment, a sigh passing through his nose as he wraps his legs into Makoto’s with surprising strength. Makoto feels the tips of warm fingers trace down the length of his side appreciatively, then find their way back up to his shoulder, where they grip on snugly to his bare skin. _Koala_ , he can’t help but muse with a smirk at the way Haruka clings to him. He wants to kiss him again, but the idea of waking up such a peaceful sight for his own satisfaction is just too cruel. Then again, a more selfish, lustful side of him reasons, Haruka’s probably not asleep anyway, if the way his feet leisurely slide up and down against Makoto’s calves are any indication. He rolls them over with ease, loving the way Haruka’s lips part in a gasp as he stares up from the pillows now. This time, Makoto is sure to tell him all the things he finds so unfairly beautiful about him while he thrusts into his tightness, achingly slow and teasing so that Haruka doesn’t have quite enough to distract him from hearing every single word pressed against his ear.

Makoto has class later that afternoon. He’s reluctant to break their embrace, thoroughly enjoying the warmth of Haruka’s bare skin, smooth and inviting, flush against his own. There’s homework to turn in and lectures to attend and grades to uphold though, if he wants to even think about his parents continuing to help him financially until he graduates. He disentangles himself regretfully, watching with a heavy heart as Haruka peers up at him with drowsy eyes from behind an arm.

“I have class,” is all Makoto says, reaching out to smooth down a charming kink in the raven’s hair. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Haruka doesn’t say anything, just merely lets his eyelids droop closed again and huffs a breath of apathy. Something about that indifferent reaction makes Makoto worry more than he knows he should. He doesn’t want to leave because he’s scared. He’s petrified that once he walks out that door, once he’s out of sight and mind, Haruka will vanish from his life for forever, eager to return to where he knows he’s guaranteed some source of income and stability. It’s engrained in his body, his bones. A habit he can’t break because his whole life he’s been forced to work, work, work no matter what that work entails, no matter what the consequences are. If he doesn’t, he’ll starve. Makoto hopes that Haruka recognizes he wont let that happen anymore, and that there’s no reason to go back, but hoping can only do so much.

He doesn’t say any of this to him though. Makoto goes to shower and change with the unresolved, stinging pain in his chest nagging at him all the while. When he’s got his jacket on and backpack slung over his shoulder, he leans onto the bed to whisper a strained, “see you later,” against Haruka’s forehead. The raven hums a response this time and tilts his head up just enough to brush his lips against Makoto’s teasingly, a parting gesture of sorts.

“I’ll be right back, Haru,” Makoto can’t help but remind him again. “Stay here, okay? I promise, I’ll be back soon.”

When he shuts the door to his apartment behind him, he hopes to any god who’s listening that they take pity on his pour, enamored soul and do all in their power to keep Haruka in his bed, safe and sound and perfect, waiting with open arms for his return.

He hates that he has to go to school in the midst of this quarter-life crisis he’s having, but he justifies a day of disciplined focus knowing that his reward is only a few short hours away. If he can just make it through two more lectures, if he can keep his mind off the feel of pale silk skin beneath his searching lips for just a little longer, he’ll be right back where he belongs in no time. He lets his worry dissolve into excitement while on the train ride home from campus, schooling done for the day. He lets himself anticipate the sight of Haruka wrapped up like delicate dessert between his sheets, hair askew, lips swollen and pursed while he dreams of hopefully their early morning activities, Makoto thinks a little conceitedly.

His pace is more hurried than usual when he strides home from the train station, one hand clutching the strap of his backpack tightly in his anxiousness, the other protected from the cold in his pocket, gripping his keys just as firmly instead. He bounds up the steps to his level two at a time, shoving his keys elatedly into the door when he arrives. Something isn’t right though. He twists them, but the door is already unlocked. No, that can’t be right, because he knows, is _positive_ he locked it on the way out, lest he risk someone breaking in and harming Haruka while he was away. His hands start to shake when he pulls his key from the lock and twists the knob open. He’s not sure if it’s from the leftover adrenaline or from the ache of fear that strikes his chest, but when he steps into his dark, painfully cold apartment, he starts to deliriously suspect that fuck, it’s probably the latter.

He calls Haruka’s name a few times, at first with some semblance of hopeful calm. When he receives no reply, that calm dissolves into panic. He checks the bedroom first and notices with nausea that the bed is empty, and Haruka’s clothes are gone as well. He knows what this means, but he refuses to accept it just yet. He bolts into the bathroom, but there’s no sign of any presence aside from the mocking echo of each _drip, drip, drip_ of a leaking faucet in the void space.

Haruka’s not here.

He’s not here. He left.

Makoto’s never experienced heartbreak before, but he suspects that this is the worst example of it anyone could possibly withstand. He sinks to the floor in his despair, tears silently dripping down his cheeks and around his knees onto the icy floor while he tries to sort out what went wrong. Why wasn’t he enough for Haruka to stay? What more could he have possibly offered to him than his entire heart?

He’s a little too bewildered and broken to recognize how much time has passed when he hears the apartment door open. A part of him hopes dismally that it’s Haruka, which he knows cannot be the case. Another, unfamiliar part of him hopes that it’s his mother, coming to save him from whatever nightmare he walked himself willingly into.

“Makoto?”

He hears the thump and crackle of a grocery back being dropped to the floor before arms and chest and such relieving warmth surround him. Haruka thrusts his entire weight into their embrace, and he thinks he’s about to cry again, but he’s not sure if that’s even possible for his body at this point.

“Makoto. Makoto! What the hell is wrong with you? What are you doing on the floor?” Haruka sounds more like a doting mother than Makoto ever imagined he could sound like.

He wraps his arms around Haruka’s body hesitantly, tentative to confirm that this is actually happening, that he’s here and never left and that it was all just Makoto being irrationally paranoid as usual. The firmness of muscle beneath his fingertips affirms his grandest dreams. “Haru,” he sobs, but it’s dry and cracked. “I thought you left. I- I thought you went back.”

He feels the displeased huff Haruka lets out against his neck, followed by a reassuring kiss placed right beneath his jaw. “Why would you think that?”

“B-because. What if I can’t give you everything after all? W-what if…” he sniffles, unable to put into words what he’s trying to convey. _You’re so perfect. Why would you ever want me? What if I'm never enough?_

Haruka seems to understand though and squeezes Makoto tighter, presses a few more soothing kisses along his neck and up to his cheek before he pulls away. He holds Makoto’s face like it’s made of blown glass, so tender and careful. His earnest eyes are deep enough to dive into and never resurface, which Makoto is more than longing to do right now. He thinks, one last time, that this truly must be a dream.

Haruka’s voice is what keeps him planted in reality.

“I’m here, Makoto. I’m right here, and I’m never going back. I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This was a nice little break from EIoML, but I shall return to my rockstar babies soon! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated!! <3 Check out my [makoharu blog](http://tachinanabananase.tumblr.com/) as well as my [personal blog](http://fikkifini.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


End file.
